Breaking Bones
by Sailor Kasterborous
Summary: Having arrived home after losing her Doctor for the final time at Bad Wolf Bay, Rose struggles to even accept the existence of his clone. However, she may find herself forced to cooperate with him, as something strange and demonic takes hold nearby...
1. Chapter 1

OH MY GOD this has taken me FOREVER.

First my computer crashes, then it gets a virus, then I have to wait six months, then I BREAK MY WRIST. Basically, it took me forever to write this, and now I'm beyond determined to finish this damn thing.

Anyway, if you've read any of my past stories, this may open up some old wounds. But besides that, no caveats here. Do enjoy.

* * *

Her car keys clinked against the wall as she gently laid them to rest on the hook by the front door. The purse she'd been carrying was discarded at her feet. She seemed morose, understandably so, and the heavy way in which she let her arm fall by her side betrayed the defeated slump in her spine. Her eyes wandered about the room, pointedly taking in everything but him.

He was immediately aware of how idiotic of an idea it had been to slip into her house and wait for her after driving home. He wasn't thinking clearly. It was obvious that she would have been upset, tired; wanting nothing more than the mindless simplicity of a bed – not the presence of the man who was causing her all of this pain to begin with. He swallowed, sifting through an endless myriad of thoughts in hopes of finding a way to redeem himself.

A small twitch seemed to pass through her: the mark of indecision. After a moment she was in motion, making towards the hallway past him that would lead to her room. "Rose, wait," he managed to choke out.

Rose turned slightly, her dark brown eyes almost black. "What?" She sounded hoarse.

"Everything alright?" he fished desperately through his head for the right words. "Nothing bad happened on the drive, I hope?"

"No," her posture shifted. "Mum and I were fine. You?"

"Yeah. I mean no. Everything was okay for me too."

"Oh." She was quiet for a moment, closing her eyes. A heavy sigh escaped her. "Why are you here?"

"I just… thought you might be lonely." _Idiot,_ he cursed himself. _She's too headstrong for that sort of comment. Now she'll be angry._

He was beyond correct. "Well I'm fine, alright?" She snapped. "Could you just go? I don't need you here."

She turned back down the hallway, and he knew he had lost her. He gave one more futile attempt. "Wait! Where am I supposed to go?"

Another perfectly wrong comment. Now he was putting the pressure on her; stating that he was her responsibility. Such a comment would make her shut down even further – he'd seen the same event play out with aliens, or with people at the odd space station. Well, no, _he_ hadn't seen it – but the memories were there. Stolen thoughts from another man that looked exactly like him.

She narrowed her eyes, this time not holding back the barely-suppressed emotions. That quiet rage sapped what little strength he'd had left after the long drive from Norway back to London. The human part of him gently suggested that he might slink away and find a small corner to whither away in. "Just _go_, alright? I don't need this. I'm tired, and... tomorrow I'll be busy. I don't have any time to deal with you."

From the moment he'd seen that twisted, dark expression on the Doctor's face as the Daleks burned in the middle of the Medusa Cascade, Handy had known that things weren't exactly going to go his way.

Rose had already slipped away: she was down the hallway, in her bedroom and gone. Handy stood there for several long, defeated moments, listening to time trickle out of his grasp with the ticking of the grandfather clock in her disorganized house. Nothing moved; nothing tried to help or hinder him. For the first time in his short life, he was alone. Finally he turned, with a slow and misleading skip in his step, and escaped out the front door.

It was night. They'd left Bad Wolf Bay around noon that day, taking rental cars to return to their home in this universe's London. It was funny; he'd expected the taste, the _feel_, of a new universe to be... different to him in some way, but this one felt just like that which he'd been born in. He could barely see much difference, except that this version of earth seemed to be slightly more technologically advanced. He spun in a slow circle on his heels, breathing in the rain-scented, heady air.

He sighed as he walked, hands instinctively going to his pockets, his mind stuck on Rose. He was still having trouble fathoming the concept that the Doctor had left him here for the sole purpose of having Rose "fix" him. That he wasn't fit for the other universe. Handy couldn't understand how that worked – Daleks were bad, wasn't he _supposed_ to kill them? Either way, it seemed as though it was his job to stick around her. And it was obvious that wasn't going to be easy.

Still, something told him that his luck might be changing. Well alright, that wasn't exactly true. But his optimistic state of mind encouraged such a possibility. _The memories are there. The smiles, the laughs, the simultaneous beat of three hearts. If _you_, of all people, remember, then surely she does too. _He frowned slightly as he realized how profoundly human such a thought was. The Doctor side of himself didn't see anything wrong with it, however – from a logical standpoint, that's just the way humans were. Emotional, unpredictable, exciting, and above all, always looking for the bright side of things.

But for now, all he had to look forward to was a night on a park bench.

* * *

Rose woke up crying.

It had been raining during the night – she could tell because of the crisp, balmy scent flowing through her open window. It was early: the sun was only about halfway through clearing the horizon. A cold wind wafted through her room. The temperature had dropped considerably, and she pulled her blankets more tightly around her shoulders as she stared blankly at the cream white ceiling and tried to come to grips with the wetness on her cheeks.

You'd expect that for most people, she'd have had more than enough time to become numb, but Rose seemed to be incapable. That moment when she'd heard the TARDIS shudder to life, she had instantly pulled away from _him –_ from the fake – but it was too late. No time to prepare herself for the last moment in which she would see that machine dematerialize; no time to look at his face, his aloof smile, once more; no time to say goodbye. Just one word, two syllables. That's all she wanted, but her wish wasn't granted – the fake had taken that from her. And although she'd had a long drive, going through the disconnecting and arduous task of an unexpected road trip, she hadn't recovered. She hadn't pulled herself away from that sickening moment when the TARDIS' gears had ground into action.

It wasn't his fault that he looked like the Doctor, down to every single detail. It wasn't his fault that he had his memories. It wasn't his fault that he was an anomaly, floating, with nowhere to go. But it didn't seem right that she was the one who ended up with him, this sudden weight in her life, this constant, everyday reminder of the Doctor. What crime had she committed that left her with the threat of seeing his face and for a moment being tricked into thinking that adventure, time travel, and the soft, subduing smell of the TARDIS was to come, only to be disappointed by his hollow humanity?

Somehow she'd ended up undressing and getting in the shower, although the time between then and the moment when she'd woken up seemed to have escaped her memory. She turned, frowning, letting the hot water run down her back.

The hardest part, she knew, was yet to come. She would have to carefully work herself back into a normal life once more – working for Torchwood, shopping, sleeping, visiting her mum, eating _chips_... it all seemed like some poisonous dream, some sick, torturous reality that she suddenly had to commit herself to. And all the while, he would be there in the background, making it harder – as if it wasn't impossible already. There would always be the bittersweet memories, of fantastic adventures and those that could have come, but are now destined to never do so. The reminiscing; the moments when she might drift out of focus in the middle of work and only return when someone really started screaming at her to snap out of it. The knowledge that he wasn't coming back.

And damnit, all that _work_ she'd done. Sure, it was ultimately to save all of creation, but what kept her going through those long nights, slaving over the teleporter, was the idea of seeing him again. The idea of getting back to the way it had been before. Only to have it snatched away from her _again..._

He might have not been that bad if his very face wasn't so haunting to Rose. And if she didn't know that she never had any choice in his staying with her; that it was all his fault. And if he didn't always look so helpless and diffident, like he had no idea what to do with himself. And if she hadn't always caught him shooting her worried, desperate glances when they stopped at that gas station and Jackie insisted on calling him so he could stop, too. And if he just wasn't so human...

He wasn't the same. No part of him but his face and voice could be compared to the Timelord she once knew. And she had every right to be angry at him – how else did she go about making it perfectly clear that she hated his existence? She wished he would just disappear.

Dressed, she slipped out the front door and gave the pale sky a dark glance. There wasn't all that much to distinguish this universe from the old one, but something about the sky seemed different to her. A sort of pallor to its color, a vague difference in the hue and the shape of the clouds. It was never lost on her. Maybe that wasn't a bad analogy to use on the fake. Subtly different. Something off about him. Something wrong; improper. Disappointing.

Frowning deeply, she turned, hitching her bag farther up her shoulder, and headed down the street.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow, that took an obscenely long amount of time, most of which was procrastination.  
Well, the point is it's here. Do enjoy.

* * *

By noon, Rose had succeeded in doing absolutely nothing worthwhile. Purse in one hand, the few remaining shreds of hope left trailing listlessly in the other, she walked down one of the many crowded streets of downtown London, eyes downcast from prying faces. Her lips seemed to be trapped in a perpetually pursed expression, as though daring her to encounter something pleasant enough to break the cycle. Nothing seemed good enough to make her happy.

At random she chose one of the several restaurants along the street, in hopes of acquiring a plateful of chips. That sounded good. Chips always sounded good.

The restaurant – or rather, diner – in question was a small, cherry-wood building that stood out among the cool stone and steel normally found in this particular area of town. It looked like it had been plucked out of the cabin of some ornate ship. Teardrop-shaped, lantern-like lights hung from the ceiling, dotted about from place to place, and were the only source of light, giving the diner's small atmosphere a dim glow. The majority of the space was taken up by a large, rectangular bar in the center of the room. The floor almost seemed to creak a bit as she stepped in, adding to the ship-like scenery. What with the dark wood and eerie glow, it was almost like stepping back in time. Maybe that's why she chose it. Or maybe, as the flow of timespace allows, it was just another funny coincidence – after all, Handy was sitting, recluse, in a small booth only a few feet away.

He started when she came in. Human instinct encouraged the idea of bolting, or finding somewhere to hide, but his alien roots won over and he sat still. She frowned slightly, looking around, and inevitably her eyes found him. Her frown, predictably, deepened. He made for a weak smile and foolishly waved her over.

After several hesitant seconds, she reluctantly took the bait. It wasn't worth her effort to try hiding from him like some skittish cat, or outwardly denying him any interaction whatsoever. If she was going to get rid of him, she was going to have to keep it simple, direct, and blunt. Yes, that would be best. Just tell him off and be done with it. She slipped into the other side of the booth across from him. "What is it?"

He made to answer, but obviously didn't know what to say. "Nothing, really. It's just if you were here, I thought we might as well sit together since we know each other and all…"

"Yeah. Makes sense I suppose." That purse in her lips was still there. She could feel it. In fact, it seemed to have deepened.

"So what are you doing out here?" He leaned forward slightly, as though ready to listen, but then seemed to think it stupid and leaned back again.

Her eyes twitched, expression descending. Partly out of depression, but also out of pity for him. "Listen, I-"

"What'd ya like ta order, hun?" A sharp voice grated through her thoughts. Rose looked up and saw a tall, strawberry blonde with a notepad and a bright, clean apron. Her accent was thick and her voice gruff. She was staring down at Rose expectantly.

"You got chips?" she replied.

"Yeah, a' course we do. Ya want anythin' on 'em?"

"No thanks, just chips. That's all."

"Arro'ight." She looked up at Handy. "Yer drink's comin' soon, 'kay?" She was gone before he could respond.

That final comment served as a sufficient distraction for Rose. "Wait, a drink? But you don't have money. What are you even doing here anyway?"

His face paled. "I just sort of… found some money. Well not found, so much as stole, and not stole, so much as… liberated it from the owner."

"You _stole?_" She gaped at him. "Where did you even-"

"I'm a Timelord, okay? I've picked up a few tricks along the way. It's not that big of a deal." He paused. "Well okay, I'm not a Timelord so much as a half of one. But I've got all the proper memories and skill so it's hardly like that detail ma-"

"What do you mean it doesn't matter? You're a completely different person. How do you expect me to just treat you like you're normal?"

"That's not what I meant," he backpedaled. "Of course you shouldn't treat me like I'm the Doctor, or anyone else for that matter. I'm just... _me_. And even then there comes the problem that I really shouldn't exist. You have every right to treat me like I'm not right."

She made a face. "Oh please, don't start a pity party. You really think I'm going to forgive you just because you give me some speech about how you're 'wrong'?"

"You're not listening! I'm not trying to make you feel bad for me, I'm _agreeing_ with you. You shouldn't just pretend that I'm him. You shouldn't think that I can do everything he did."

"That's what I've been doing, and I plan on keeping it that way."

"Yeah, sure, but ignoring me isn't the proper way to do it! That's not solving anything."

They both fell silent as the waitress returned with a soda and a plate of chips. The silence reigned after she left. Rose chewed angrily on a chip, just to give her something to do more than want of food.

"Listen, I'm sorry," Handy said after a few moments. He hadn't touched his drink. "This wasn't how I wanted the conversation to go. I just want you to understand... It's just... I'm not trying to be him, alright? I'm not him, and I never will be. I just want to be your friend, okay?"

She snorted, looking away from him. "More like you want me to be your _companion_. Like it was with him. It doesn't matter whether you're trying to be him or not. You still want what he had."

It hurt him. Not because she said it so coldly, or because he was in a terribly weak state of mind, but because it was true. It really was true. It was a long time before he spoke again. "Does that really matter?"

"Do you really think it shouldn't?" She shot back at him. "You seem to be forgetting that you don't have what he did. Sure, maybe you have his memories. But you're a different person. Can you honestly expect that I'll ever love you the way-" She stopped abruptly and didn't continue.

"I get that," he said softly. "I just want a chance."

"Well you're not getting one."

Instantly Handy fired up again. "Is it really that hard for you to just consider it? Nothing works for you! I try to be nice last night, you won't have any of that. I try pushing my opinion today, and you hate me even more! What's going to make you happy?"

She turned and her expression cut into him like knives. "Getting rid of _you_."

They stared at each other, locked in a cold war for several seconds. In the distance, not too far away as to pass unnoticed, but not too close as to be unnerving, something shattered in a musical spatter of broken glass. Rose frowned and looked away first, having heard the noise. Handy slowly turned in the same direction.

Her first instinct was to think it was the crash of some stray dish in the kitchen, but the direction the sound had come from was entirely different. The culprit appeared to be a hallway a bit off to their left, with a wooden plaque above it labeled "Bathrooms". Her mouth opened and then closed, questioning what to do next. Her thoughts were interrupted by a new noise from the hallway, fainter this time. A rushed intake of air, like someone trying to scream with something lodged in their throat. This disturbance was quickly intercepted by a low and bone-chilling growl, which – by sound alone – seemed to have come from the same mouth.

Rose was on her feet and down the hallway in an instant.

Handy might have called something to her, but by that point she wasn't really paying attention. Whatever mattered was down that hallway. Whether it was someone choking, or maybe even a stray animal that wandered into the diner, at least it was something _interesting._ Something to break her monotonous pattern. She followed a few softer, quieter noises to the door of the woman's bathroom. It was closed, but unlocked.

Suddenly filled with a nervous thrill, she called, "Hello? Everything alright in there?"

In response she received a terrible, hollow rasp, not unlike the intake of breath she'd heard earlier, except now more ragged and painful to hear. It sounded like someone trying to breathe with metal spikes through their neck. Unable to shake such a mental image from her mind, Rose's need to help increased tenfold. "I'm coming in!" She said, then took a breath and pushed open the door.

The bathroom was a very bland and simple one. Squarish in design, with nothing more than a plain white sink and toilet. Above the sink sat a splintered mirror, cracks fanning out from the middle like a spider web, presumably the cause of the crash. Pieces of glass had fallen from its frame and into the basin and floor below. Mere inches from the door lay, in a defensive circle, the willowy frame of a young girl.

Her back was facing Rose, curled up into a ball, like a terrified little girl. Her body was shaking, shoulders shivering from some unknown oppression. Black hair fanned out in thin strips, wrapping around her head like a messy wreath. Her clothes were dirty and her bare legs covered in scabs. She looked, by Rose's estimation, to be a little under 20. Soft raspy noises escaped through her lips in irregular intervals, leaving the poor girl with not a single clear breath.

Rose leaned down immediately, all traces of fear gone. "Are you alright? What happened?"

At the sound of her voice, the girl's jagged breathing changed. Her coughs went from hisses to growls, and she shifted on the ground, thin arms moving weakly to push herself up. "What-" she grunted gutturally.

"Don't get up," Rose urged. "You look like you're hurt. Does anything feel wrong?"

She shook her head slightly, but the movement didn't seem to be in response or even acknowledgment of Rose's question. She did it again, as though trying to clear the cobwebs out of her mind. She shifted again, her neck making no attempt to hold up her head, and turned with robotic slowness to look at Rose. The girl's face was a mess. Her left eye was blackened, and dark, reddish-brown smudges covered her cheeks and forehead. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. As her eyes focused on Rose, a very slow smile meandered across her face.

"Heh, an audience," she choked out. The voice was feminine, but it seemed much too thick to belong to her body. "I love it when there's someone watching."

Before Rose could even figure out how to respond, the girl's eyes widened in sudden shock, or perhaps pain. Her head fell forward and her body seemed to go limp, betraying her. She weakly lifted her eyes to her again, and this time they were filled with incredible pain and fear. Rose could clearly see the terror etched into her features, horror patterning her face like an ungodly map, and felt her heart pound double-time in response. The visage only lasted a few seconds before her head dropped again, but it was an image that would stick with Rose for the rest of her life.

Again, the head snapped up, the demonic expression back, before she could find something to say. With unexpected speed and agility, she lunged over Rose and through the door in a single heartbeat. She turned, instinctively wanting to give chase, but by the time she'd reached the end of the hallway, the girl had reached the diner's front door. She was gone, just like that.

Handy stood next to her, looking shocked. "I tried to block the hallway but she was too fas-"

"Just shut it," Rose snapped, thoughts running through her head at a mile a minute. "Fat lot of good you were."

He didn't respond, and she pressed her hands to her temples, trying to think clearly. What the hell was going on here?

And more importantly – how was she going to get in on it?


End file.
